


The best of times, the worst of times

by paperlesscrown



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Extensive abuse of literary quotes, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 02:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12644229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperlesscrown/pseuds/paperlesscrown
Summary: The silence was growing between them, and the times were growing darker. But Jughead was determined to say one thing to Betty. And to keep her safe in his arms.





	The best of times, the worst of times

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piece inspired by, and expanding upon, the beautiful moment between Jughead and Betty in S2, Episode 4, when they woke up together after falling asleep in the Jones trailer, exhausted from a night of sleuthing. The gaps in the narrative and in the characterisation were frustrating, to be sure, but too tantalising for a fanfiction writer to resist. This story is my humble attempt to fill some of those gaps, to argue for and champion communicative Bughead, and to point towards the instances and possibilities of light in this epic relationship. I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it.

Tonight had been an unqualified disaster.

Between Toni snapping and taking out her Northside prejudices against Betty, Kevin furiously texting him afterwards and telling him to stop being such a shitty boyfriend (“Your girl is gold and you are treating her like lead, AT BEST.”), and - worst of all - a distance growing between him and Betty that went beyond being relegated to different schools, it was, to quote Charles Dickens, the worst of times.

But, as Jughead looked over at Betty, who was sitting on the floor with her hair down, Chinese takeout boxes and papers strewn about her feet, her face scrunched up in concentration, he recalled that Dickens had said that it was also the best of times. Truthfully, they hadn’t been alone like this in a while. When he was at Riverdale High, they had the _Blue and Gold._ They took nearly all the same classes. They had recess and lunch and everything else in between. Now, they barely saw each other, which of course meant they had to consciously and intentionally make time for one another. And that was taking them a while to get used to.

Tonight, however, fate - or, at least, a hooded serial killer with a penchant for the dramatic - had intervened, and thrown them back together again. And despite the horrible circumstances, he was glad to have her here - his ray of hope and goodness, in the midst of everything.

_It was the season of Light, it was the season of darkness._

“What?” Betty looked up at him.

“Huh?”

“You said something.”

“What? No, I didn’t.”

Betty narrowed her eyes and smiled at him. “Were you quoting Dickens? _A Tale of Two Cities?_ ”

 _She caught that?_ He smiled sheepishly at her. “Yeah, actually, I did. I’m sorry - I didn’t realise I’d said that out loud.”

“It’s okay. I loved that book _.”_ She laughed at a sudden memory. “Polly was supposed to be reading it for AP English, but she was too caught up in becoming a River Vixen at the time, so she made me read it and write up her book report. Of course, she got an A. Or rather, _I_ did.”

Jughead laughed, and it surprised him. It was a relief to laugh. It didn’t feel out of place, even now, with the darkness gathering outside, right on their doorstep. Not with her, anyway. “Wow. I’d forgotten Polly was a River Vixen. I feel like she’s just been --”

“Pregnant Polly this whole time?”

He laughed. “Yeah, pretty much.” And there was that, too. They could still read each other’s minds, finish each other’s sentences. It didn’t happen as much, but it was good to know that - at least for now - it still did. “How is she going, anyway?”

“She’s... “ Betty suddenly sat up and turned to him, remembering something. “Jug, did I ever end up telling you that she’s skipped town?”

“ _What_?”

“She left Riverdale. With the babies on the way, she just couldn’t see herself staying. My parents were - _are_ \- furious.” She exhaled in disbelief, shaking her head in incredulity. “I can’t believe --”

“Well, it makes sense, right? The whole town’s running scared.”

“It’s not that. I… I just can’t believe I hadn’t told _you_.”

Jughead fell silent. He knew exactly what she meant. That _was_ strange. Even as friends, they spoke about everything: when she was struggling with her parents, when she was anxious about Polly, Betty came to him. It’s what drew them together to begin with - what propelled his bold, impulsive decision to climb up her window and kiss her in her room, when he realised that he always wanted to be there for her. And now something big was happening in her life - she was losing her sister all over again, and he’d had no idea about it.

Betty ran her hand through her hair and sighed in frustration. “We haven’t been talking much, have we?”

“No.”

“We never talked about Polly leaving, or you sitting with the Serpents at Southside.” She bit her lip and looked up at him. “Are we gonna talk about that?”

He laughed bitterly. “Are we going to talk about _the fact that we’re not talking much_?” It was a sad jest poking fun at the irony of their situation, but she gave him a sombre smile anyway, one that indicated that she got it - that sardonic humour was just how he dealt with most things. It put other people off, but she understood him better than anyone else could. He felt such a rush of tenderness for her then that he immediately regretted having made the joke. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.”

“It’s fine.”

They both fell silent - so silent that they could hear the monotonous hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. He didn’t know what else to say, and she seemed equally reluctant to speak. All words seemed suspended between them, out of reach and beyond their grasp.

Betty broke the impasse, placing her hand over his, and it felt like oxygen rushing into his brain. He turned up his palm to meet it, to interlace his fingers with hers. “It’s just been... really hard, Juggie.”

“I know.” He kissed her knuckles, and for a moment it took him back to simpler times at Pop’s. “Look, I know there’s a killer on the loose, but maybe we just need to see each other more. Maybe if I skip last period every second day, I mean I’m ahead in all my classes anyway --”

“It’s not just the distance, Jug.” She slipped her hand out of his, and inwardly he protested at the loss of contact. She rubbed at her temples, as if to ward off a migraine. “I mean, of course it’s part of it. _Of course_ I miss you. When I turn around in my desk at the _Blue and Gold,_ I still think that I’m gonna see you there, working on the week’s layout, but all I see is an empty chair. Or I could be at the lunch table, and I look down at my tray and I’m surprised that half of it is uneaten, because I’ve bought enough for both of us out of habit and I’ve forgotten that you’re not picking off my plate anymore.”

His heart wrenched at that image. “Betts—“

“But it’s more than that. Whatever’s going on _here_ , with us...? It’s not just us missing each other. It’s...” Her voice trailed off.

“What? It’s what, Betty?”

She turned to him, her eyes meeting his. “Do you remember what I said to you at the hospital, after Mr. Andrews was shot?”

How could he forget? “That whatever I needed to do or explore… you’d support me.”

“Yeah. And I meant that. Look, I’m not stupid, Jughead. Two schools, two sides of a town in a civil war? You and I were always going to struggle. But I said what I said because…” She paused, as if to pull herself together. “Because I always figured that even in all this, we’d always be on the same page somehow. Maybe not in the same sentence, or even the same paragraph. But _always_ on the same page.”

“But we are, aren’t we?”

“Jug, right now, I’m not sure we’re even in the same _chapter._ ”

Jughead winced. He could’ve sworn that he physically felt his heart give out from the weight of her words.

But was she right? Were they being written out of the same storyline? After all, a murderer brought them together in the first place. Was it about to be ended by one?

 _No._ He refused to believe it. Not while they were here, of all places. He got up off the floor.

“Jug, what are you doing?”

“Get up.”

“What?”

“Just… go with it, okay?” She looked at him skeptically as he reached down his hand and pulled her up. “Stand over there.”

She walked over uncertainly to the opposite side of the living room. When she saw where she was standing, her face lit up in familiarity and softened as she realised what he was doing. “Jug, this is --”

“Just listen, okay, Betty?” He stood near the door. Right where he took his beanie off. Right where he told her that he loved her. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we’re in two different chapters right now. And that sucks. It does. I’d do anything to run the _Blue and Gold_ with you again, or sit with you at lunch time, or hold your hand under our desks while we’re supposed to be working our way through Orwell.”

He shrugged. “But this is just where we are. We’re on two opposite ends of town. I hate it. But you know what? Even before all this, we were from two different worlds. And somehow, that worked, right? Actually, scratch that, it didn’t just work - it was _great_.”

She began to step towards him, but he held his hand out. “No, Betts, stay there. Please. I need to make a point.”

“Our stories weren’t supposed to include each other, but they did. We wrote ourselves into the pages and now, here we are. Sure, we’re not getting much dialogue. We’re in different points of the narrative. We’re fighting different battles. But damn it all if I’m not gonna fight my way towards you _every damn day._ Because —“

He clenched his jaw reflexively against the emotion that was threatening to spill out of him. It startled him; he wasn’t expecting to get so caught up. But if he had to be vulnerable anywhere, it would be here. It would be with _her_ , always. Betty kept her eyes steady on him. “Because what, Jug?”

He took a breath. “Because... I love you, Betty Cooper.”

The last time he said that to her, she’d crossed the living room and told him that she loved him, too. And in his mind - his active, restless, overanalysing mind - it meant everything. She was crossing and defying so many barriers and expectations to be with him, and in that small gesture he saw her willingness to do it over and over again.

Right now, however, he wanted her to stay still.

Tonight, it would be _him_ crossing the threshold. Even now, as his life was starting to resemble a free fall through empty space. Even as he fought off fear and loneliness and worry every night in the otherwise-empty trailer. Even as his father languished in prison. Even as he struggled to survive with his hope and integrity intact in the snake pit that was Southside High.

Jughead wished he could give her all of himself. He wished he could be better for her. But so much of him was just trying to survive, and this was all he had - the small reassurances of his words, the sharpness of his mind, the kisses of his mouth.

He kept his eyes locked on hers as he crossed the living room in three long strides before crashing into her, her voice catching at her throat at the suddenness with which his lips parted hers. They were needing and desperate, willing her to know how much he loved her, but also willing himself to take all of her in _now,_ while the darkness of Riverdale’s long night was still being held at bay...

But, _oh,_ he was quickly losing his train of thought. His fingers tangled themselves in her hair - out and loose, for once - as he pulled her flush against his body, her warmth inciting a riot in him. Her arms reached up to encircle his neck, and her shirt lifted slightly, exposing a stripe of flesh which his hand immediately went to. The feel of her bare skin electrified him, and he couldn’t help but think back to the last time they kissed this passionately here, in the trailer. The memory of it sent a tremor through him - an unholy union of sweet fire, thunder and lightning.

But tonight wasn’t about that. As they parted, Jughead put his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, taking in the sound of her soft, shallow breaths, her scent, her hands cupping his face. After a moment, he took her hand and pulled her down to the couch, enveloping her into his arms as she curled up into his lap, leaning her tired head on his shoulder.

They sat like that for a while, in comfortable quiet. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but couldn’t. And he sensed the same knot in her, too. He felt it in the hardness of her shoulders and the slight tightening of her knuckles, saw it in the exhaustion in her eyes.

But although the air between them felt thick with all the things they were leaving unsaid, his hands, his arms, spoke the honesty that his words could not, tightening around her, at once needing and protective. It was a language they both understood, one that wasn’t open to misunderstanding or poor interpretation.

She lifted her head off his shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Jug?”

“Yeah?”

“I forgot to tell you something.”

“What?”

She leaned in, planting a soft kiss on the corner of his lips. He felt the upturn of her smile against his mouth.

“I love you, too.”

…

 

Jughead was a light sleeper.

It was an instinct honed by survival over many years of fending for himself - of training his ear for the possibility of either his mom or dad leaving in the dead of night; of drifting in and out of wakefulness at the projector room of the Twilight in case anyone came snooping or looking for trouble; of waking randomly to a cramp after sleeping all night in a curled foetal position, unable to get himself warm.

Last night had not been like any of those nights. He’d been warm in his own home, with Betty Cooper dozing soundly his arms.

But, still. Old habits die hard.

And so Jughead found himself wide awake, just as the darkness in the trailer was melting away into the soft grey of morning, right before sunrise.

It wasn’t the first time he’d woken up. After they spent a few more moments in each other’s arms, talking lazily of trivial Riverdale High news and analysing the recent upswing in Archie and Veronica’s relationship, Betty - with all the characteristic focus of a detective chasing a hot tip - jumped up and announced that they needed to return to their work on the cipher. Jughead groaned.

“Betts, honestly.” He glimpsed at the clock. “It’s 11.30. Any work we put into this will basically come to nil. We’re mentally flailing.”

“It’s literally on the edge of my mind, Jug. Even if looking at these for a little bit longer could trigger something, anything…” Betty’s voice trailed off as she rummaged through the haphazard pile of paper that had gathered at their feet.

“Well, at least get up here with me. I’m not falling asleep on the floor again.”

She looked up and narrowed her eyes at him. “‘ _Again_ ’?”

“Don’t ask. It’s a sad story that involves an ill-advised solo Stephen King movie marathon. After which I refused to sleep without the TV on for days.”

“And how recent was this ill-advised movie marathon?”

“Betts, please. We have a cipher to solve.”

Betty giggled and got up off the floor. She grabbed one of the books that they loaned from the library and laid her body across the couch, her head in Jughead’s lap. He looked down at her, smiling softly as she flipped through the pages, completely driven by her task, unaware of him.

They fell asleep that way - the book lying across her chest, his arm draped across her stomach while he was slouched and sitting up on the couch. He was woken up by the crick in his neck, and was immediately seized by panic when he realised that Betty had accidentally stayed the night. Damn the Black Hood - Alice Cooper would be out for _his_ blood.

“Betty?” He nudged her. No response. She was out cold, and no wonder - she was _exhausted._

Jughead tried a firmer approach. “BETTY.” He nudged harder, and felt bad. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him, barely awake. “Betty, you have to go home.”

He wasn’t sure she’d even heard him. Her eyes closed again. _Damn it all_ _,_ he thought. He’d be glad to incur Alice Cooper’s wrath in exchange for a few hours with Betty in his arms, the two of them safe, and temporarily, willingly ignorant of the fear gripping Riverdale.

He put his arm under neck and lifted slightly - enough to slide out from beneath her head. Carefully, he moved her and then laid himself down on the inside of the couch, with her body curling into his, his arm slung over the gentle curve of her waist. They fit like two stacked spoons. He closed his eyes.

“Jug?”

Her sleep-laced mumble surprised him. He thought she was sound asleep. “Yes, Betts?”

“This is... nice.”

He smiled. It was more than nice. It was _home._

After a moment, she spoke again. “Jug?”

“Betts, shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“I know, just…” She yawned. “Do you still remember the rest of the introduction to _A Tale of Two Cities?”_

 _“_ Do I _remember?_ I’m insulted, Cooper.”

“Okay, well... can you recite it to me?”

That was a strange request. “Really?”

“Not the whole thing, just the bit that comes after light and darkness. Actually, include the light and darkness. I like that line.”

“Alright, but… why?”

A brief pause. “I... kind of wanted to fall asleep to the sound of your voice.”

Despite himself, he smiled. Still, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to be self-deprecating. “My nasally, _annoying_ voice?”

“It’s not annoying. Just…” She smacked him lightly on the hand. “Can you please?”

Jughead laughed softly and planted a gentle kiss on the nape of her neck, then began to speak Dickens’ words against the bare skin right above her shoulder. “ _It was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way_ … Betts?”

She was snoring softly. Her body was limp against his, spent and exhausted. He held her more tightly, closed his own eyes, and was soon asleep himself.

Now, wide awake as dawn was filtering into the living room, Jughead turned those words over in his mind. For the first time since last night, he felt the cold dread of Riverdale creeping into his psyche again. Here, with his ethereal Hitchcock blonde lying asleep in his arms, he’d almost forgotten that there was anything to be fearful of - everything grew dim in the glow of her beauty and courage.

 _It was the best of times, it was the worst of times._ Dickens had written those iconic words about the French Revolution, but he might as well have been writing about Riverdale itself. Or about Jughead’s life. Here he was, fateful and anxious and worried sick for his father, fighting to survive in Southside High, trying to escape the pull of the Serpents... yet also hopelessly in love with, and loved in return by, Betty Cooper.

A sense of foreboding grew in him as he looked over at her. The fact that they were only able to spend time together due to a serial killer’s cipher did not bode well for either of them. And while last night served to solidify how they felt for one another, it did nothing to quell the questions or fill the silences that were adding up between them.

Jughead watched the soft light of dawn crawl across Betty’s sleeping form. He’d held her before, but never like this; never in such a vulnerable state, and never in the midst of a Riverdale that was growing afraid of its own shadow. It did something to him. It filled him with fire and resolve. It seized him with an overpowering sense of vigilance and defensiveness. It made him determined to protect her at any cost.

Even if that cost was… _him._

But he shook his head against such thoughts. The time was urgent: there were only a few hours left before she needed to leave. He closed his eyes, determined to sleep again, to savour the last gasps of this quiet moment with her.

Maybe it was true that a serial killer was on the loose. That the last of Riverdale’s innocence was crumbling into its blood-soaked ground. That a civil war was brewing between the wealthy, powerful North and the fearsome, scrappy South. That at some point, he would need to make a choice between the two, and that choice was going to tear him apart.  

But for now, his girl was here. And, in this moment, in these times, that was all he could really ask for.

 _Let the times do their worst,_ he thought. The best lay here in his arms.

...


End file.
